Friends will be Friends
by Acepilot6
Summary: No.34 in the Road series. With Tommy and the gang having moved on to the next level of school, young Dil finds himself needing to make new friends. It's not as easy as it sounds...until he meets someone who will change his life forever...pls review!


**Friends will be Friends  
**Acepilot

AN – No.34 in the Road series. This is the story of how Dil and Amanda met, and it becomes officially the first story in the Road series chronology (taking over from "The One That I've Been Waiting For"). It's a way of me merging my 'classic' style of fic with my 'new' style and characterisations that I'm hoping to start exploring soon. Please review.

Oh, and props to all who catch the reference to the film in which I first saw Clancy Brown, the voice of Pangborn and one of the all-round coolest bad-dudes in history.

Disclaimer – the characters in this fanfiction are property of KlaskyCsupo, except for Amanda, who's mine and mine alone.

---

You know the toughest thing about siblings? It's their shadow.

Normally, I like standing in people's shadows. It's cooler there. But when it comes to siblings, their shadows are nice and cool, but also prove to be the bane of one's existence.

I've spent the best part of my life growing up in Tommy Pickles' shadow. And you have no idea how annoying it is to be referred to as Tommy's little brother. Especially considering we share the bulk of the same friends. I'm Dil to them, but I always have to wonder - if it weren't for Tommy, would we even be friends?

It's not that they're not great friends. They are, 100, and however I got them, I don't plan on letting them go any time soon. It's just…well, for one, to them I'll always be Tommy's little brother first, and a friend second.

And, secondly, I kind of always wanted to know if I could make friends on my own.

I'm not quite as extreme as I was three years ago. I'm fairly certain that aliens aren't trying to contact me, for a start. And every now and then I'll offer a serious opinion on a serious matter.

But that doesn't mean I don't still have fun.

So this is how I find myself standing on my head, leaning against a tree, and watching the people of my school wander by, on their first day back after holidays.

On my first day without my friends.

So, project for the year. Make a friend. At least one.

It's not going to be easy, I know that much. For various reasons, all my previous attempts to make friends with people have failed fairly miserably – only those who were born with me appear to be stuck with me for life.

I roll so I land the right way up and take a deep breath, hauling my backpack onto my head and walking confidently and without hesitation into the school, wondering which of these people I'll manage to convince to enjoy my company.

My first target is a guy called Tony. We get along fairly well, or we always have in the past. I worked with him on a project last year, one about the solar system, and I think we did really well. He didn't quite understand a few of the references I slipped in about the Mercutians and their eating habits, but he did acknowledge them by turning red and gritting his teeth in appreciation.

"Hi, Tony," I happily announce to him as I approach the locker where he's standing. He jumps a foot in the air and comes back down facing me.

"Dil. You're back."

"Of course," I say. "Can't learn about the world if I don't come to school."

"No, it's just I heard a rumour over the summer that you'd been committed." He shrugs. "Evidently hyperbole. Good to see you, anyway."

And then he moves in the other direction as quickly as possible.

Things don't get much better until lunch.

I'm sitting at the table that the seven of us used to hang out at, me, Tommy, Lil, Chuckie, Phil and Kimi, feeling miserable and picking at my food, which is disappointing me by making absolutely no attempt to move. An ominous shadow falls over me, and, despite knowing that I'll regret it, I look up.

"This seat taken, Pickles?" Pangborn asks in his typical, Immortal voice.

"Yeah," I answer laconically, picking up my carrot and dropping it repeatedly, so I can hear the depressing "splut" it makes when it impacts with my bread roll.

"Gee, Pickles, I knew Pickles and Finster and deVille and all of them leaving would be rough on you but I had no idea you'd be so…" he searches for the right word, "miserable."

"Is that meant to be sympathetic?" I deadpan.

"Do you want to talk to someone?" he asks.

"You?" I probably sound quite doubtful. I am, in all honesty.

"Why not? That's what us educators are here for," he tells me, sitting down opposite me despite my suggestion that I'm expecting company. "What's on your mind?"

For some, being seen talking to the Vice Principal would be a surefire way to blow your cred, but I'm aware that I don't seem to have much of it to start with, anyway. "I don't know if I can make friends," I tell him.

"Nonsense. You had friends all your life," Pangborn insists.

"Yeah, but that's just it," I point out. "I've had the friends I've got now forever. I didn't _make_ them. And now that I have to make friends, I'm just…well, I'm not sure I can. To everyone around here, I'm just Dil Pickles, class clown. Class eccentric, if they're feeling generous."

"Well, that is a pickle, Pickles," Pangborn says, stroking his recently-grown goatee. It does look really ridiculous on him, but I have a sneaking suspicion O'Keats told him she likes it. "Have you thought about being…well…not quite as…out there?"

I shrug. "Yeah. Sometimes. But I don't know if I can do it."

"Good," he says.

I raise an expressive eyebrow. "Good?"

"Pickles, if you're willing to change yourself to make friends, then they're not going to be the kind of friends worth making anyway," Pangborn tells me. To my endless puzzlement, he reaches over and claps me on the shoulder with a giant hand. I go sailing a few inches sideways. "Pickles, you're unique. Don't ever change that about yourself. Even when you grow up and leave and have to become…a part of society, never leave that behind. And certainly don't leave it behind to make friends who wouldn't speak to you otherwise.

I hold Pangborn's gaze seriously. "Should I get used to this compassion or is this a one-off pity thing?"

He rolls his eyes. "Think about what I said, Pickles."

And then he's gone.

I watch all the people at tables around me, having fun, chatting, laughing. Catching up on gossip from over the summer, trading stories and enjoying their friendships.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?"

I look up and see a girl standing in front of me. She's not tall – she's probably shorter than me – but her hair seems to reach down most of her height. She's got a deep tan and dark brown eyes.

"Sure," I tell her, gathering up my tray, "I was just leaving anyway."

And I do just that.

---

I practice basketball in the setting sun, though, as I'm not actually playing against anyone, I hardly feel compelled to follow what Tommy and Phil so persistently refer to as "the rules". I stroll up and down the court, flinging the ball at the basket with venom.

A day wasted.

Maybe I'm just not cut out for friends. Maybe I'm just not meant to have more people around me than I started with.

It's not fair.

Why can't people just accept me for who I am? Why can't they just…let me be me, and take me at face value.

"Stupid, ignorant, lousy – "

A hand taps me on the shoulder. "Hello?"

I drop the ball in my surprise and grab the nearest basketball pole. I swing around on it in one smooth motion and land on my hands, going into a combat roll that sees me barely miss cracking my skull on the asphalt. I stretch a hand out to my bag and withdraw something long and cylindrical, bringing it and my head up to gaze at my attacker.

It's the girl from lunch, wearing a look that falls somewhere between startled and amused. "I'm sorry, do you always attack strangers with French loaves?"

I look at the long stick of bread in my hand and shrug. "Only around suppertime."

She grins a dazzling smile. "Ah. I was actually just wondering if you wanted someone to play against."

I raise an eyebrow and lower the baked goods. "Seriously?"

She shrugs, dropping her bag next to mine and stepping over me to get to the basketball. "Well, yeah. I mean, I'm not fantastic, but –"

"Hang on!" I call. "Time out!"

"You can't have a time out, we haven't even started playing, yet."

I leap to my feet, dropping the loaf back into my bag. "You actually want to play with me?" I gaze at her critically. "Have you actually met me?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm the new girl. I saw you this morning walking around on your hands, and I thought to myself, 'now there's an interesting guy'. Everyone around here seems so…boring."

I blink in utter disbelief.

"I mean, if you want me to go, I can go. I'm kind of out on a limb here, after you didn't want to hang around with me at lunch…"

"No!" I exclaim, snapping out of my stupor. "No, I want to play. Sorry about lunch, I had…other things on my mind."

"Yeah, you get that on your first day back and stuff," she agrees, before holding a hand out to me. "I'm Amanda Carr."

I smile in what I hope is a non-threatening way. "Dylan Pickles."

"Nice to meet you Dylan," she tells me, starting to dribble the ball in my direction.

I make a half-hearted attempt to get around her and cant' wipe my smile off my face. "Actually," I tell her, "my friends call me Dil."


End file.
